


What's in a Name

by Zemmiphobia



Series: It's a Big Multiverse [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Ladyhawke (1985)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Relationships, F/M, Other, Polyamory, Pre-Relationship, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-04-20 13:17:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4788596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zemmiphobia/pseuds/Zemmiphobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Philippe is in London when the past comes to reclaim him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Philippe sighed and brushed off his robes. He hated London, hated it with a passion that most reserved for small insects and sudden jinxes. It was, to put it simply, crawling with Aurors who were just a little too invested in their job. Give him Paris and the _Protége_ any day. At least then, he had a chance of at least getting inside the wards, never mind the actual property.

Slipping his wand inside his sleeve, Philippe cocked his head to the side and listened intently. Nothing. Carefully, he edged around a pile of rubble and peered over the window. The street below, lit only by a dull streetlamp, was empty. His breath left him in a gusty sigh of relief as he slumped against the wall. For now, at least, he had his freedom.

Straightening, he moved away from the window and towards the door, easing it open and slipping out into the gloom. When nothing jumped out of the shadows, he turned towards the river and headed for home. He hurried quietly, keeping towards the edge of the streetlamps. The few muggles who noticed him kept their heads down, preferring not to acknowledge a lone stranger in the dead of night.

He stopped outside of the Leaky Cauldron, almost sliding on the wet pavement. A witch laughed at him behind her hand, letting the door close behind her as he reached for it. Annoyed, he strolled leisurely inside, waving at a grizzled man seated at the bar. Without pause, he slipped through the crowd, opened the wall, and stepped out into Diagon Alley. Stopping just at the threshold, he scanned the candle lit streets but the few wizards still out ambled past without a glance. Smiling with sudden cheer, he walked into the shadows, the portal closing behind him.

~

His apartment was a small, one room abode on Hagboil Street. It was one of many that sat above a small second hand store that boasted ‘all blood removed’ in their window. He had only been in England for a month now, after a disastrous week in Belgium, but Philippe rather thought he had lucked out on the find. He wasn’t always able to find an apartment that didn’t already have an owner.

Philippe ducked behind the building, following a narrow alleyway until he was standing by the backdoor of the shop. Pulling his magic around him, he felt himself shrink. Blinking, he looked up at the suddenly looming apartment through the grey eyes of a mouse. His ears twitched, listening to the sounds of a stray dog two buildings over. Satisfied, he climbed inside the drain pipe and made his way up to the third floor. It would be easier, he knew, to use the door, but with what seemed like half the Auror running around looking for him, he would happily trade anonymity for a bit of comfort.

The pipe had a hole just below the roofline, just big enough for Philippe to wiggle through. He had made it himself, an hour after he had moved in. From the hole, he could jump to his window sill and the window he had left open. Peering through the darkness, he leaped, enjoying the rush as his small body sailed through the air and landed with a thump on the rotting wood. Before he had become an animagus, he had no idea what adrenaline junkies mice were. He had certainly never enjoyed heights before his transfiguration.

Falling to the floor, he let his magic go, filling him back into his proper shape. As always, the transformation left him a little light-headed and slightly giddy.

“Well, God,” he said to the darkness. “I must say, I am thankful it was in your plan I make it home tonight or I would have been very disappointed.”

“So would have I.” Said a deep voice in the darkness.

Philippe froze, heart pounding with something he almost wished was fear.

~

The man who lit the candle, throwing the room into suddenly light, was exactly as Philippe had last seen him. Tall, muscular, and dressed from neck to toe in unrelenting black robes designed with more of an eye towards mobility than fashion. His golden hair gleamed in the light, giving him an air of the devil himself. Philippe stared at him, not daring to move, barely daring to breath, when a cough drew his attention to the faded couch pushed against one wall. The woman sitting there was also wearing black robes, through elegantly trimmed in blue. She made the couch look even more pathetic than it already had.

She smiled brightly and slid to her feet, coming to stand before him. Gently, she reached out and took his unresisting hands. “Philippe! We were worried you wouldn’t come home.” Philippe made a strangling noise in the back of his throat, eyes darting between her and Etienne, who had circled around to stand at his shoulder. Close enough to make a grab if Philippe decided to run for it.

“Ah-“ he cleared his throat. “Milady, how good to see you. I was, uh,” He paused and glanced at Etienne. “Why are you here?” He felt it was a legitimate question. After all, it had been nearly a year ago he had left them in Aquila, both smiling as he waved goodnight. They had broken their curse, returned to their rightful places, and were deliriously happy. What in God’s name were they doing in England?

Isabeau smiled, using her free hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

“We’re getting married. Again,” she added when she saw his questioning frown. “Properly, on Saturnalia.” Philippe swallowed, nodding slowly.

“How wonderful for the both of you. I’m sure it will be a beautiful ceremony. Are you having it in England?” Why, he couldn’t imagine. England was so cold and wet.

Isabeau laughed and tucked herself against Etienne’s side, holding Philippe’s hand between the three of them. Etienne was smiling faintly, but his eyes were trained on Philippe’s face.

“We want you to come.” Etienne said, bluntly. Isabeau nodded, tugging Philippe forward a step.

“Please come. We’ve missed you and we want you to be there.”

It was a terrible idea. Being in love with the woman who was rumored to become the French Minister of Magic next term and her husband was bad enough. Going to their wedding and watching them vow themselves to each other in front of God and France, again, was horrible. He’d be miserable, trapped, and… and… He sighed. They were both eyeing him hopefully and he hadn’t missed the way their eyes were measuring him like they were calculating how much effort it would take to carry him over the border themselves.

“Who am I to deny such a fine request?” He said after a moment, squeaking midsentence in surprise when Isabeau threw her arms around him and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Wonderful!” said Isabeau at the same time Etienne said, “Pack your things, we’ll leave tonight.”

“Tonight, my lord?” Philippe exclaimed, untangling himself gently from Isabeau’s grasp. “Isn’t that rather soon? Saturnalia isn’t for months.”

Etienne gave him a knowing look that was born from too many nights spent in close company.

“Would you rather stay here and pray the Aurors don’t find you?”

Put like that, Philippe could hardly resist. “Tonight it is, my lord.” He bent down and pulled a satchel from under the bed. Slinging it over his shoulder, he spread his hands and made a small bow. “Shall we go, my lord and lady?”

“Etienne.”

Philippe froze, mid-bow. Isabeau nodded, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the door.

“And Isabeau. You’ve more than earned the right, Philippe.”

Philippe closed his mouth with effort and smiled tentatively as they pulled him out into the hallway.

“It is an honor.” He said faintly.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The house that sat at the edge of the city was the most beautiful home Philippe had ever been in, including the less than legal trips over his long career as a thief. It was large, as most pureblood homes were, and sat in the middle of what he had been told was nearly a thousand acres. ‘Plenty of space for a growing family’, was what a house elf told him as she placed fresh towels on his bed and left him to his privacy.

Philippe glanced around the room, twitched, and peered into the bathroom. It was nearly as big as his apartment and had a color scheme that made him think of either a nursery or a church.

“I don’t think I belong here, God.” Philippe said to the ceiling, pulling off his clothes and stepping into the shower. “If you’ve thought of a good way to wriggle out of this, I’m all ears.” He paused and stared at the box of bottles set into the wall. Choosing one at random and slapping a dollop of it on his hair, he continued. “I’m not a huge fan of pain, Lord, not even the emotional kind.”

“Does he ever talk back?” asked a curious voice from the door. Philippe squeaked in alarm and lost his footing, slipping ungracefully to the bottom of the tub. He just managed to slap his soapy hands over his groin before the curtain was pulled back and Isabeau’s concerned face appeared. Seeming unbothered by his naked state, she laughed at his weak glare and pulled the curtain back. “Are you alright?” She asked between giggles.

Philippe closed his eyes and thumped his head once against the tiles. “I’m fine, my lady. And no, the Lord has ever chosen actions over words.”

“Seems difficult.” Isabeau said, her voice coming from the other side of the room. ‘Purebloods.’ Philippe thought fondly and peaked around the curtain. Isabeau had perched herself on the toilet, looking as elegant as if she were seated on a garden bench in spring. She was dressed in a light blue robe. It matched her eyes and, Philippe realized belatedly, the color of the walls. If Isabeau was the average trophy witch, Philippe would have thought she’d designed the room herself but Isabeau was much too busy running the French Magical world to play housewitch.

“—and thought that it’d suit you.” Isabeau finished, looking at Philippe expectantly. He blushed and ducked behind the curtain.

“A thousand pardons, my lady. I was woolgathering, would you please repeat that?” Isabeau laughed.

“I was asking if you liked the room.”

“It’s lovely my lady, though bigger than I’m used to. I fear I may get lost going from the bathroom to the bed.”

“If you do,” there was a small noise, like the rustle of clothing, “we’ll find you.” The last was said jokingly but with a thread of steel. Philippe laughed obligingly and wondered how he was going to survive the next few months. A softly muttered ‘ _tempor’_ and a small flash of light distracted him.

“I’m afraid I’m rather late for a meeting,” Isabeau said over the sound of the door opening. “Dinner is in an hour.” Then she added, cheekily, “I’ll send a house elf to make sure you don’t get lost.”

The door closed and he was alone. Unable to muster up even a prayer, he banged his head against the tiles again.

~

When Philippe reached the dining room, dressed in the deep green robes Isabeau had left him, he was surprised to see Etienne seated alone at a relatively small table. The larger man noticed him instantly and smiled faintly, no doubt reading Philippe’s expression perfectly.

“Isabeau is in a meeting.” He said, rising from the table and waving Philippe to a seat next to him. “She doesn’t expect it to run for much longer, but she said we are to start without her.”

Philippe nodded and let himself be guided into a chair, trying to tamp down the nerves that threatened to send him running from the room.

“This is a very beautiful home.” He said finally, after the house elves had placed their food down and disappeared. “Did you buy it after—,” He paused, choked and took a sip of his wine. Etienne watched him flounder for a moment, eyes brimming with amusement, before taking pity on Philippe.

“No, we thought about buying a new home, one for a new life, but ultimately we decided it would be best to move back into Isabeau’s childhood home.”

“She grew up here?” Philippe asked, trying to imagine it. It was a far cry from the tiny muggle foster homes he had grown up in. Etienne nodded, sipping his wine languidly and watching Philippe over the rim. His curse might have been gone but he was still a wolf animagus and it showed in his eyes, no matter how elegant his surroundings. Philippe wondered if a part of him missed his time roaming the French countryside.

“We met here,” Etienne said after a long pause, “several years before our curse. I was on a case and needed to speak to Minister de’Anjou, Isabeau’s father.”

“And you fell in love.” Philippe said, managing not to choke on the words. To his surprise, Etienne shook his head and laughed.

“We met after my meeting and she proceeded to interrogate me on my case. She had a vested interest in it, since it affected one of her projects in the Ministry. She was working in the Magical Child Welfare department.” Etienne added at the end, noticing Philippe’s look of confusion. “She insisted that I keep her informed. And I did.”

“And started the love story of the ages.” Philippe said, smiling softly into his wine.

“Or until the papers get bored and find a new story.” Etienne added with a snort, his smile slightly twisted.

“They’ve been hounding you?”

“Day and night. If that Quidditch scandal hadn’t come out last week, they’d probably still be camped at our door.”

They shared a look of amusement and Philippe was relieved to feel the heavy atmosphere lighten and drift away. The door swung open and Isabeau strolled into the room, the candlelight causing her gown to glow. She pressed a quick kiss to Etienne’s lips, took her seat and smiled delightedly at Philippe.

“My apologies! You would not believe how much politicians love to hear themselves talk, even when they have a meal waiting for them.”

Philippe smiled as the conversation continued, letting himself bask in their warmth as it pulled him in.


	3. Chapter 3

Philippe wandered into the library, hoping to find something to distract himself. Barely a week and already he could feel his fingers beginning to twitch. If it not for the distress it would cause Isabeau to have a guest in her home revealed as a thief, he would have already visited any of the dozen, complacent manors sitting just beyond the property line. As it was, he was deadly bored.

The room was one of a dozen libraries in the house but, as his host had informed him, it was the only one with a fiction section. While he had no problem sitting down with a tome on transfiguration theory, he wasn’t sure it’d be able to keep his attention.

Browsing the shelves, he was delighted to see that the d’Anjous not only had a large section of wizarding fiction, but also several muggle novels as well. Pleased, he slipped ‘ _Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus’_ off the shelf and tucked it under his arm, intending to find a warm corner to curl up in. Turning, he headed for the door.

“Good choice.” Said Etienne from the chair, looking at Philippe over his newspaper. Startled, the thief squeaked and nearly dropped his book. He was really losing his touch, he thought morosely.

“Ah, thank you my lord—

“Etienne.”

“Etienne.” Philippe repeated with what he felt was a great deal of patience. “I have wanted to read it for some time.”

“Too busy running from the law, I assume.”

“You wound me, sir. I rarely have to run.” And it was true. Whatever else he was, no one could deny he was a good thief. At least, he was when outside of Belgium.

Etienne sighed and set the paper down, motioning Philippe into the chair across from him. Biting his lip, the mouse glanced at the door and then gave in.

“One day, they’ll catch up to you.” The older man said as Philippe sat down.

“More than likely. God does not always favor me.” He grinned, unaware of the way it gave his face a look of boyish charm, and waved a negligent hand. “I have always managed to escape, however, and I do not believe God means for me to die in a cell.”

“Neither you nor your God would have to worry if you changed careers.” Etienne pointed out, the words holding just the faintest suggestion of a growl. He was staring at Philippe intently, hands steepled above his chest. Philippe fancied that the man’s eyes glowed.

“True, though I doubt it worries God unduly. However, then life would be very dull.”

“You believe us to be dull?” Etienne demanded, definitely growling now.

Philippe froze, hand midway to his hair. This was no casual conversation but for the life of him, he couldn’t see where the light banter had taken such a serious turn. Feeling decidedly wrong-footed, he tentatively said.

“You to be dull? I dare say there are not two more interesting people in all of France.”

“And yet you left us.”

‘Oh,’ thought Philippe, tension creeping into his shoulders. ‘It was going to be _that_ conversation.’ Etienne was leaning forward, fingers biting into the arms of the chair. His eyes pinned Philippe in place, preventing him from fleeing.

“I afraid I don’t understand the connection. Of course I left, the curse was broken.”

“The curse was broken,” Etienne said deliberately, words heavy with a meaning Philippe couldn’t grasp, “and when we awoke the next morning, you were gone.”

Philippe blushed uncomfortably.

“Ah, yes. Well, perhaps I should have said goodbye—

“No word, no message, only an empty bed.” Etienne continued as if Philippe had not spoken. “We had no idea of what had become of you until news of that accident in Belgium reached our papers.”

“Right, Belgium, terrible business—

“Isabeau worried herself ill imagining what would happen to you if you were caught. And then to hear you were as close as England, without even a letter to us?”

“Enough! Peace, I beg you!” Philippe said, throwing himself to his feet. “I beg your pardon, my lord— Etienne,” he added at the older man’s growl, “I never meant any harm to you or your lady but surely you can see why I left? There can be no mystery.”

“No mystery to why you disappeared like smoke into the night?” Etienne asked incredulously. “You ran like a coward without so much as a by your leave!”

“I left because I was not needed!” Philippe shouted, feeling the last dredges of his patience slip away. “God knows, I am a fool but I am not such a fool as to believe that I belong here. Thieves do not belong in castles and mice do not belong in feather beds!” He ran a hand through his hair, distantly aware that Etienne was watching him with a strangely satisfied smile but too incensed to care. “Perhaps I am a coward, protecting myself, but by God himself—

The door to the library swung open, cutting him off midsentence.

“I swear, Austria has gone mad.” Isabeau stated as she sailed through the entrance. “Darling, you will never believe what the _banal_ have done now.” She stopped at the sight of them, Etienne sitting by the fire with a smug smile and Philippe pacing the floor, looking bright and brittle. “Oh dear, have I interrupted?” She asked quietly, crossing the room to stand next to Etienne, her eyes never leaving Philippe’s face. “I didn’t notice your silencing ward.”

“Never fear, my dear.” Etienne said, catching her hand in his. “It was to keep out the house elves. Philippe was just explaining why he chose to leave in the manner he did.” He caught her eye. “Apparently, he did not feel wanted.”

“That is not what I said!” Philippe spun and glared at the older man, only slightly faltering under the couple’s intense gaze.

“But it is what you meant, is it not. You did not believe we wanted you to stay.” Etienne rose from his seat and they approached him together, stopping just close enough to touch.

“I would not presume to know your thoughts, _my lord_.” Philippe said ungraciously. “I am sure they are much beyond my own. Surely you can see that I could not stay, wanted or not.”

“I can see nothing of the sort.” Snapped Etienne at the same time that Isabeau reached out and took Philippe’s hands between her own.

“My dear Philippe, we wanted this to be your home. Not out of gratitude,” she added when the younger man opened his mouth, “but out of _love_.”

“Love?” Squeaked Philippe, as the three of them froze. His eyes darted from Isabeau to Etienne. The older man sighed and reached out, ignoring Philippe’s instinctive flinch, to clamp a warm hand around the back of Philippe’s neck. Tilting his head back, he meet Philippe’s eyes.

“Love.” He said firmly. “We missed you.”

“We need you.” Isabeau added, putting Philippe’s hand to her cheek. “Please don’t leave us.”

Philippe felt as though the floor was spinning out from under him and that the world had suddenly upended while he wasn’t looking. Distantly, he could hear a voice shouting in the back of his head not to destroy this opportunity but before he could grasp the thought, fear crashed down upon him.

“I— I can’t—…” He jerked out of their embrace, vaguely noting the twin devastated expressions, and fled from the room.

~

It was a mark of his attachment to them that he ran, not beyond the house, but to the room they had chosen for him. Crashing through the door, he slammed it behind him and began to pace, thoughts in a whirl. _Lovelovelovelovelove_ the word pounded in his mind in time with his heartbeat. Everything he wanted, everything he craved was at his fingertips but for one thing… his reputation.

He was a thief, born and bred, as the orphanage workers had liked to say every time a potential family sent him back. Even had Isabeau not been slated for minister, she was a well-known public icon married to a national hero. For just one of them to be seen in his company, at just the slightest recognition of his face… he couldn’t do that to them.

_They are willing to risk it._

Isabeau’s career would be finished. No one would trust her to run a flower cart, much less a country, if it was known that she had a criminal for a lover. Her marriage aside, it would be professional suicide. And Etienne? All of his records, all of his arrests, would become tarnished by his association. People would wonder if his good luck in battle was less luck and more inside information.

_Are you really protecting them?_

The best he could do for them would be to disappear and never return to Europe. He would need to wipe himself from their memory. Not literally, he could no more take them on in battle than he could swim the Atlantic, but time was often just as effective as a spell. Perhaps he’d go to China, or no, the Americas. Plenty of opportunity for a thief there.

But even as he started to plan, their distraught faces swam before his eyes.

_Or are you just a coward?_

~

They were standing where he left them; Isabeau curled against Etienne’s chest as he pressed his face against her hair. The dying sunlight wrapped around them like a blanket, giving the impression of both beauty and abject misery. They both jerked at the sound of the door, unfurling like a flower to stare at him. Neither of them smiled, Isabeau was, in fact, silently crying, and they both looked as if he had come to announce their execution.

“I’m sorry.” Philippe said quietly, shutting the door behind him softly. They both flinched. “I shouldn’t have run like that.”

“Please,” Isabeau said, barely above a whisper, “do not apologize. It was unfair for us to… to—

“I’m terrified.” Philippe said, cutting her off, his blunt words at odds with the pleading tone. “I’m a coward, I know…” He stopped and moved closer, head bowed.

“I don’t want to leave.” He finally said. “I love you. Both of you.” Someone sucked in an audible whoosh of air and before he could finish raising his head, two pairs of arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a near crushing embrace. He could feel Isabeau’s hot tears against his neck and from the corner of his eye, Etienne’s looked suspiciously bright.

“But,” he said after a moment of basking in their warmth, “I don’t know how we shall make this work. I’m hardly respectable. If the papers caught wind of our relationship…”

“That was what I was trying to impart earlier,” Etienne said with a short cough. “I have a job for you, if you are interested.”

“A respectable job.” Isabeau added, with a teasing and slightly damp smile.

“There have been rumors that the _banal_ are planning a war, one that will affect much of Europe. This, of course, will most likely have nothing to do with our kind but the ministry has been making noises about keeping an eye on things. Some seers have been making worrisome reports.”

Philippe blinked.

“And you wish me to steal information? But that would make me a—

“A spy!” Isabeau’s smile turned coy, “A perfectly respectable and proper job, though one you can’t, naturally, talk much about. Why you could have been employed for _years_ and no one would be the wiser.”

“A _spy_.” Said Philippe, faintly.

“Very unlikely to be dull.” Etienne agreed, pressing his lips against the skin below Philippe’s ear. In return, Isabeau placed a kiss on Philippe’s cheek.

“Now, I believe we should retire and have a _very_ clear discussion about the future of our relationship.” She stated, pulling her lovers towards the door.

Philippe let them lead him upstairs to the master bedroom where they indeed had a long and fulfilling conversation that took no words at all.

**THE END**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The setting for this story, if its not clear, is just before WWI. The event in Austria she is taking about is the anti-serb riots that led to the war. The magical community really doesn't expect to be affected, but it never hurts to watch what the muggles are up to in case it boiled over. Banal, btw, is my headcanon for what the French call muggles. It means commonplace or mundane in french.


End file.
